


sunny smiles on saturday night

by octobercafe



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, happy rare pairs week everyone here is my courfjolras contribution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-08 19:06:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15250029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octobercafe/pseuds/octobercafe
Summary: Enjolras has the unfortunate habit of overworking himself, but luckily Courfeyrac always knows how to help out.





	sunny smiles on saturday night

It’s not that he’s even interested in writing the paper. He doesn’t much care for discussing his opinions on history, as his relationship with the subject is more one of silent respect and acknowledgement; recognition of the way history influences the present, the future. _History repeats itself_ , after all. He’s sure that he read that somewhere, maybe on a poster, maybe in a book, maybe spoken by a friend. 

He’s fully aware that learning from history is important and, _ipso facto_ , understanding it is an essential part of education. 

Yet for Enjolras, the present has always mattered more than the past. Yes, the two are deeply related. Yes, it’s impossible to have one without the other. But really, what’s more important: the world today, or the world a thousand years ago? 

Enjolras knows that the answer could go either way depending on the person, their viewpoints, their profession, their age, etc., but for him it’s easy. _Today_. 

Yet as he writes about Napoleon he does not complain. He is reluctant, maybe just a little, but that aspect is neatly swept under a rug of resigned dedication—metaphorically speaking.

His feelings on this paper might be different by a few shades if he’d remembered earlier that it was due by Monday, if he’d written the assignment down in his little planner with his neat and unnecessarily pretty script. It was very rare for Enjolras to forget such things, and yet the only reason he’d even remembered the paper was Combeferre casually mentioning a documentary he’d watched on Napoleon—he’d gone into detail on why he disliked it, due to it “glorifying” the emperor, painting him in a good light, falsely sugarcoated.

Usually Enjolras a fast writer, but he’s gotten almost no sleep within the past 24 hours and his thoughts keep drifting away to focus on other things, things that are more important to him than this paper. Things like the activism club he started a little while ago, the rally that he’s currently organizing with the help of his friends, his friends, _Courfeyrac_ , Courfeyrac’s laugh, Courfeyrac’s smile, the warmth that Courfeyrac carries with him wherever he goes… 

Enjolras shuts his eyes, opens them, shuts them, opens them, shuts them, opens them. He adjusts his position on the chair, and puts his hair up into a bun. _Focus,_ he chastises himself.

He slips back into the daze of writing, and his thoughts return to history. _Which is important,_ he reminds himself. _I would not be here today without history_

And so here he is, sitting at his desk and staring at the screen of his laptop, head swimming with facts on Napoleon and his achievements, failures, and everything in between. Enjolras isn’t sure how long he’s been at his desk; when he’s involved in a project the world seems to slip away, time becoming insignificant. 

It’s only when he hears Courfeyrac’s voice that he’s jerked back to reality.

“Enjolras. This is colder than Jehan’s wannabe goth facade.” 

Enjolras looks up to see Courfeyrac make a disgusted face, and he looks down to see Courfeyrac’s hands wrapped around a ceramic mug, the contents of which are presumably coffee that Enjolras had made earlier in the day and promptly forgot. He doesn’t question the fact that Courfeyrac is in his apartment—well, the apartment that he shares with Combeferre. They’d given Courfeyrac a key to their place a while ago, and Courfeyrac came and went as he pleased.

“Seriously, when did you make this?” Courfeyrac sets the mug down, casting it a dark look, as if its very existence causes him great offense.

“Noon?” Enjolras says uncertainly. “Probably noon.”

Courfeyrac snorts unbelievingly. “You mean that you’ve been staring at that screen for seven whole hours? It’s a _Saturday,_ Enjolras. It’s the weekend. Loosen up a little bit, would you?”

“I can’t. This is due on Monday, and I’m only halfway through…” Enjolras sighs. “I completely forgot to put it on my planner.”

“Ahh,” Courfeyrac says knowingly. “Procrastinator not by choice, but by fate.”

“I don’t think it qualifies as procrastination if I forgot.”

“And ’Ferre didn’t think to remind you?” Courfeyrac tilts his head. “He always reminds me when I have a test coming up. Or an essay. Or a powerpoint presentation on the life cycle and reproductive habits of bullfrogs.”

“No, because I always write assignments and dates down.” Enjolras flips his planner open miserably. “Well, _almost_ always.”

Courfeyrac places his hands on Enjolras shoulders’. “Look, Enj, you’re clearly not going to get anymore done tonight. Why not take a break? You can work on this tomorrow.”

“What would you propose we do?” Enjolras asks. “Stay in, or go out?”

Courfeyrac gives him a smile, his cheerful smile, his radiant and warm smile. “Marius is out for the night—staying with Cosette, I believe. If you came over, we’d have my place to ourselves.”

“Mhm.” Enjolras leans back in his chair. “And what would we be doing with all this freedom?”

“Wild sex.” Courfeyrac snorts, shaking his head. “Enjolras, you’re clearly exhausted. We’ll order a pizza and watch a movie, or something like that.”

“I mean… I guess that does sound nice…” Enjolras says hesitantly.

“Of course it sounds nice, I was the one to suggest it!” Courfeyrac rolls his eyes, and leans over to shut Enjolras’ laptop. He smells pleasant, like citrus. “Now, let’s go. Grab your jacket and we’ll head out.”

Enjolras pushes himself out of the chair, nodding. Courfeyrac suggesting a night of relaxation seems out of character for the usually exuberant, rambunctious man, but Enjolras is hardly complaining. Researching and composing a paper on Napoleon was, without a doubt, draining both mentally and physically. 

They head toward the door, Enjolras grabbing his red jacket on the way out. Its a dark red, not quite burgundy but close, and he’s had it for years. He considers it to be a staple aspect of his character, something that serves as a matter of identification.

His phone charger is in the left pocket, and his wallet is in the right. Enjolras doesn’t think to grab anything else, head still swimming with history. He fastens his jacket before they step outside into the cool, crisp evening air, buttoning it up all the way. It’s not the warmest, but it’s enough to serve as a barrier against the chill.

Courfeyrac grasps Enjolras’ hand, swinging it as they walk, the movement carefree, playful, soothing. It’s something that Courfeyrac seems to enjoy, this casual display of affection. Platonically with friends, and now romantically with Enjolras. With his _boyfriend_.

The word still feels odd. Out-of-place, but not unwanted. Unfamiliar, but not unwelcome. Enjolras likes the feel of it.

The sun has started to go down, and the streets are basked in twilight and the fluorescent glow of street signs. Courfeyrac’s apartment isn’t too far from Enjolras’, they’re there in less than fifteen minutes, and Courfeyrac holds the door open for Enjolras in a way that’s somehow both chivalrous and teasing.

It’s much warmer inside, and as they ascend the stairs, Enjolras sheds his coat, slinging it over his arms. He yawns, a testament to the exhaustion that he’s carried throughout the day. 

Courfeyrac inserts his key into the door of his apartment (#36) and it opens with a creak, swinging inward on hinges in need of cleaning. 

The space is not particularly tidy, but it’s not glaringly chaotic either. Marius’ minimalistic tendency seems to mesh surprisingly well with Courfeyrac’s materialism, resulting in an unexpected balance that works for both. Enjolras has never seen the interior of Marius’ bedroom, though he can certainly assume that its nowhere _near_ as messy as Courfeyrac’s. 

They don’t go there now, though. 

_Why would we?_ Enjolras reminds himself. _Marius is out. It’s just us._

_It’s just us_. 

And Enjolras smiles now, smiles for real, thoughts of history and classwork fading to the back of his mind while that warm, sunny feeling expands within him.

_History._ Enjolras almost wants to laugh, maybe he does laugh a little. _This is better than history._

And he gives way to the present, gives way to Courfeyrac enveloping him in a hug and pulling him onto the couch, gives way to the feel of Courfeyrac’s body pressed against him. They’re close, so close, and Enjolras breathes a sigh of contentment as he hugs back. 

They stay like that for a little while, tangled together and happy. Enjolras feels his breathing start to grow deep and easy, starts to feel his eyes grow heavy and dark. He’s nearing sleep when Courfeyrac sneaks his hands to Enjolras’ sides and squeezes a little, wriggles his fingers and snickers lovingly.

Enjolras startles, almost falling off of the couch. _Almost_. Courfeyrac’s strong grip is enough to keep them pressed together, though Enjolras is glad that Courfeyrac is no longer intent on taking advantage of Enjolras’ unfortunate ticklishness.

“So… Pizza?” Courfeyrac props himself up with one elbow, looking at Enjolras with radiant, warm brown eyes. “Or some other delivery option. I don’t want to go outside, and judging by the fact that you just about fell asleep on me, you probably don’t either.”

Enjolras yawns. “Pizza sounds good. Cheese?” 

“You read my mind.” Courfeyrac winks, and carefully detangles himself from Enjolras to reach for his phone. He dials the number from memory, cheerfully relaying the order for one medium cheese pizza, adding a _please_ and a _thank you_ alongside his address. He sets his phone down, and sinks back into the cushions beside Enjolras, maneuvering a hand to play with Enjolras’ hair.

Enjolras hums contentedly, and Courfeyrac smiles softly at him.

Their eyes meet, sky blue on chocolate brown and vice versa, and it seems as if there’s the same thought in both of their heads, the same sentiment. _How on Earth did I get this lucky?_

They remain like that for a while, and this time it is Enjolras who breaks their reverie. He stretches, and plants a chaste kiss on Courfeyrac’s nose. “So, I heard you mention something about a movie earlier…”

“Of course.” Courfeyrac is not one to be outdone, and so he returns Enjolras’ light peck on the nose in the form of a bold and exaggerated kiss on the lips. “What’s the genre for tonight? Sci-fi? Rom-com? Apocalyptic dystopia? Teenage vampire romance? _The Bee M_ —”

Enjolras stops him before he can finish. “Let’s just watch the first _Star Wars_. Rebellion, space, and no mention of Napoleon.” At Courfeyrac’s questioning glance, Enjolras adds, “The paper I was working on all day. It was about Napoleon.”

“Sure thing, chief.” Courfeyrac smiles, and flicks on the TV via a little black remote. “Nerd-central it is.”

Enjolras punches him halfheartedly. “Funny, coming from someone who unironically suggested _The Bee Movie_ as a legitimate opt—Hey!”

Courfeyrac interrupts by tickling him again, and Enjolras swats his hands away exasperatedly.

“Okay, okay.” Courfeyrac laughs. “ _Star Wars_ time.” 

He goes about pulling up _A New Hope,_ and Enjolras thinks the way he bites his lip is endearing, the way that his soft brown curls fall across his face is heartwarming. There is a fine trail of freckles across the bridge of his nose, only visible up close—from afar they blend into Courfeyrac’s tan skin. 

_I love you,_ Enjolras thinks. He’s going to say it, he’s opening his mouth, but Courfeyrac beats him to it.

“I love you,” Courfeyrac muses, and he squeezes Enjolras’ hand affectionately.

Enjolras smiles, and shifts his gaze toward the screen. “I love you too.”

It’s not the first time that they’ve said those words, and it won’t be the last, but every time Enjolras hears them, says them, a warm sense of security creeps over him. _He loves Courfeyrac. Courfeyrac loves him_.

A knock on the door signifies the arrival of the pizza, and when Courfeyrac stands up to pay, Enjolras is able to admire a whole other side to him.

He’s not the type to say such remarks out loud, to comment, to compliment on other people’s bodies, but he _does_ know that Courfeyrac has, without a doubt, _the_ best butt he’s ever seen. Of course, he’d never really gone out of his way to see examples of that sort of thing, but Courfeyrac seemed to take great pride in showing off his body whenever the chance arose.

It’s as if he knows what Enjolras is thinking, because when Courfeyrac shuts the door there is both a cardboard pizza box in his hands and a knowing smirk on his face. 

He places the pizza on the miniature coffee table that stands in front of the couch, and opening the lid and presenting it with a flourish. “Enjoy.”

“Thank you,” Enjolras says. His stomach is growling, and he’s uncomfortably aware of the fact that the only food he’s had to eat all day was a granola bar early in the morning. “I’ll pay for breakfast?”

“Sure, sure,” Courfeyrac responds, smiling and reaching over to grab a slice of pizza. “I’m just glad I managed to rescue you from working… Really, what would you do without me?”

Enjolras rolls his eyes. “Thank you, Courfeyrac.”

“How on Earth do you plan to repay me?” Courfeyrac teases.

“Well, I hope this shall suffice.” Enjolras leans over and plants his lips squarely on Courfeyrac’s. He’s not the best kisser, he’s not even sure if he’s a _good_ kisser, but Courfeyrac seems to love kissing him nonetheless. 

Courfeyrac kisses him back, and it’s messy, and they’re messy, and Courfeyrac hasn’t set his slice of pizza down yet so it’s being held haphazardly between them, but Enjolras is content and at peace. _And in love_. 

When they part, they’re both breathing a little heavily and Courfeyrac’s lips are a pretty shade of red, a faint blush adorning his cheeks.

“I love you,” Enjolras whispers, as if it’s a secret. 

Courfeyrac, grinning, whispers back, “I know.”

And Enjolras can’t help but laugh. “I thought you weren’t a _Star Wars_ fan?”

“It’s one of the most iconic lines, Enjolras.” Courfeyrac leans back into the cushions, and takes a bite of pizza. “Plus, I’m a fan of _you_.”

“Just start the movie.” Enjolras shakes his head laughingly, and leans over to select a slice of pizza. It’s delicious.

Courfeyrac obliges, pressing _start_ on the remote. 

_Star Wars_ begins, the opening notes playing as Enjolras leans his head against Courfeyrac’s shoulder. He feels so safe here, so warm, but the relaxation quickly gives way to the exhaustion that had been steadily building throughout the day.

He closes his eyes, sighing peacefully.

 

_I love you, Courfeyrac._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Les Mis Rare Pairs Week for giving me an opportunity to write some courfjolras content.


End file.
